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“Lieutenant!” Connor’s barely a mile away when he watches Hank and the suspect swing beyond the barriers that lead into the relentless tide of the Detroit river. He mentally kicks himself as he clings onto the railings: had he been faster, there would've been no altercation between them.
The moonlight glitters against the void. He lifts his right loafer on top of the metal bar.
[CHANCES OF SURVIVAL: 35% ]
A flood of cold prickles down his chassis as he jumps into the black expanse.
[ MISSION: SAVE LT. ANDERSON ]
[ 00:04:28 ]
[ TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN ]
[ TEMPERATURE: -4.82°F / -15.1°C — RISK OF HYPOTHERMIA ]
Paddling his way around the murky waters, he adjusts his audio receptors to receive distant noises rather than impending ones. He opens his mouth to call for Hank, but a cluster of bubbles escape from his mouth instead. Fuck .
Each paddle is the equivalent of a chase, yet the spate of pressure relentlessly pushes him backwards, making the effort seem futile.
He swishes to his right and comes to a halt. Beyond the thrust and crashes of water, a low murmur echoes 22 degrees to his left, 15 meters away. If he could only find something to hold onto—
[WARNING: INCOMING OBJECT ]
More air escapes as a mass of wooden debris slams itself onto the side of Connor’s chest. It plunges him deeper into the tirade as thirium seeps from his chest.
[THIRIUM LEVELS: 85% vv ]
Reorienting himself to what he presumes is upright, he grabs ahold of the lumber then pushes against it, allowing him to move moderately closer to his target.
[ 00:02:54 ]
[THIRIUM LEVELS: 79% vv ]
He grasps onto something. Leather. Polyester. A burly beard. He tilts his head to the right, allowing the LED to shine a beige onto the subject.
Hank. It’s Hank… He barely lifts a smile inside the frigid water. A quick scan reveals a heartbeat but the complacency when he brings Hank over his shoulder leaves him overwrought.
[ INCOMING CALL… ]
[ACCEPT—
[ Dispatcher: Is this Detective Anderson speaking? ]
[ Connor: … ]
[ Connor: 42.307950, -83.080609 ]
[ CONNECTION LOST ]
Something hits against his head. A chunk of metal passes carries his thirium away.
[THIRIUM LEVELS: 62% vv ]
[ 00:00:57 ]
[ TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN ]
His limbs begin to jitter and lock up. Shit. He diverts his power towards his arms and legs as he crawls towards the surface.
[ BIOCOMPONENT #8427g: OFFLINE ]
His left leg becomes dead weight. He persists.
A motor hums.
[ 00:00:05 ]
[ TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN ]
He reaches out his hand—at least he thinks he does.
The sky fills with light pollution. Locating a solid surface seems impossible.
He resigns as the warnings invade his view, informing him of his impending doom. Perhaps it’ll compensate for the deviants he killed during his mission and there’d be a burial for him.
[ 00:00:01 ]
A blanket of darkness soothes his chassis.
The muffles rise in pitch as it transitions into soft chattering and an all too familiar beep. His face weakly scrunches together as he attempts to pull together what had happened from the slough of memories. He was chasing someone. Found a shortcut. He fought with the suspect until they tip off balance and dove headfirst into the river.
“Damn. Finally awake, Anderson.” Dreary eyes drag to his left, where Gavin stands with his arms crossed.
“Where’s Connor?”
Gavin scoffs, finally breaking the tense air: “Who do you think saved you? Dumbass.”
Hank stills for a moment, initially to understand his words, then to deny the blooming horror of it.
Before Hank could respond, metal scrapes against each other when an arm slides the drapes apart. Relief clearly washes down the android as he approaches. As Hank’s view begins to better define textures, the gray cyberlife jacket looks…new.
“Connor?” Cool arms embrace him and no more words exchange between them for a moment. The other person in the room slips out of the room with a groan.
“I-I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Connor sniffs, “I had to see for myself that you were okay.” He awkwardly relents and rests on the chair behind him. There. On the left side of his jacket shows “53” instead of “52”.
“Says you. The fuck did I say about risking your life?” Connor’s gaze weakens towards the floor like a kicked puppy. “Damn it.” Hank hisses. “Sorry. Just don’t scare me like that again, alright?”
Connor brightens back up with a sniffle: “No promises, Lieutenant.”